“Ni hao, Dominic Verdigris.”
One moment the office had been empty. Now, there she was. Relaxed. An arrogant calmness of purpose, denoting her presumptions of superiority. Damn her. I’m not going to flinch in front of her. I’d rather piss glass. “How nice of you to grace us with your presence, General. I had almost given up hope of seeing you tonight.”
One elegant eyebrow rose. “I have many things that occupy my attention, barbarian. I attend to them in their order of importance.” She shifted her weight, slightly. “I assume this is about a matter of importance to you?”
“That it is; thus it’s important to both of us, and our shared cause. Wouldn’t you agree?” He didn’t give her an opportunity to reply; he needed to take control of this conversation. “I have a task for you. Should you prove successful in what I have laid out of you, I will have more…pertinent things for you to attend to. Things vital to the war against the Thulians.” The edge of his mouth quirked in a smile as he leaned forward. “Interested? Or is your schedule too cluttered, General?”
“So, despite what you already know, you have decided I must pass some childish little test to prove my worth?” The General didn’t sneer. Somehow, the fact that she didn’t curl those young lips made her contempt all the more apparent. “Really, Verdigris, this is a waste of both of our time.”
Verdigris shrugged. “It is something I need done, and need to be certain will be handled appropriately. If you won’t do it, I can pass it off to some lesser minion, but I’m all about the efficiency of effort with my plans. I’d much rather you took it, so I could rest easy.” There was a slight hidden in there, and he knew that the General would see the implication. Will she rise to the bait, though? “Besides, you don’t even know what I’m going to ask you to do, yet.”
People’s Blade half-lidded her eyes. “True. It might be worth my while, if it is challenging enough. All right, barbarian. What is your foolish test?”
“Challenging as you asked, so it’s sure to not disappoint. This is a special case. In the war we’re fighting, there are going to be losses. In an effort to keep that to a minimum, with regards to winning the battles more efficiently, we will need the right weapons. In this particular case, the weapon is a person.” He tapped on the display in front of him, bringing up several very grisly pictures of crime scenes. “We need the man that was responsible for these…gruesome images.”
People’s Blade looked at the displayed pictures without even a hint of flinching or distaste. “Interesting, but I see only the savage hand of a common criminal. What is it that differentiates this creature from any other mass slayer?”
“One, he’s never been caught. This individual was given the codename ‘Shadow-Storm’ by ECHO. His or her list of exploits is long, but surprisingly mundane; racketeering, bank robbery, extortion, blackmail, and plainly some rather messy murders. He operated for over forty years, and never once was caught or even seemingly hurt, even when confronted with nigh insurmountable odds.” Verdigris tapped on the screen again. “Two: this is what he did to an advanced reaction team from ECHO.” Another image came to life on the display; it was hard to tell where the room began and the bodies ended. “Those were three Op Three’s and an Op Two, all of some small fame. They were torn to shreds.”
“During his career, this ‘Shadow-Storm’ is estimated to have accumulated quite the fortune, but never seemed to do much besides run-of-the-mill savagery and crime, with a few grandiose capers thrown in. Then, suddenly, he dropped off the map. ECHO’s detectives had several sources that confirmed that the subject had died in a plane crash.” Verdigris steepled his fingers in front of his chest. “However, I have quite a few more resources at my command than ECHO does. I’ve found this ‘Shadow-Storm.’ Given his past, I think he could be useful against our enemies.” And not just the Thulians; there are more enemies in this world for a man like me than you can imagine, General. You’re probably one of them.
“So, you ask me to recruit this creature for you, with no more information than this?” The eyebrow rose again. “I fail to see how he could be useful. I suspect your quaint little bodyguard could accomplish similar goals. Certainly she could serve the same function as I, if you insist on recruiting him.”
“Khanjar has her uses. But, every weapon is suited to one type of a task or another. This one does not suit her. Truth be told, we don’t have much more information on this target. Which is precisely why I’m sending you to deal with him.” With a quick twist of his hand, the screen cleared. “And that is the third reason. All that we know about his powers are that he somehow uses shadows, manipulates them in some way. Recordings from the victims’ comm. units are fragmentary, but there are shouts about ‘the shadows’ before the comm. links ended; sometimes in screams, truth be told. From the results, we can presume he’s extremely deadly; he’s been given a probable classification of Op Four, due to the length of time he was active, the destructiveness of his abilities, and the fact that no one could even seem to hurt him.” Verdigris leaned back in his chair, tilting his head to the side. “Will you take this on? If so, we have his location and a jet to fly you there, ready immediately.”
There was a little glint in Shen Xue’s eyes. “Well. You have intrigued me. I believe there is…how is it you barbarians put it? ‘Room in my schedule.’”
“Excellent.” Touchdown. He reached into his jacket, pulling forth a small envelope. “This has most of what you will require; pass for the jet, a card for expenses, access to our armories and equipment locker. Just make sure to sign out for anything; no, don’t bother me with it, that’s for whoever is in charge of those areas. Also, there’s a cell phone. Keep me updated, if it pleases you, General.”
People’s Blade said nothing; took the pass, left the card and the phone. Did not so much “bow” as incline her head ever so slightly. Then she just sauntered out, with a very slight swagger in her step. A few moments later, Khanjar entered, carrying a tray with glasses of scotch and a small bucket of ice.
Khanjar was frowning. “Why was that…thing here?” she asked. “I do not trust it. It is arrogant, and it distracts you.” And she puts you on edge; worried about our position on the food chain, dear?
“She is arrogant, and you certainly shouldn’t trust her, dear. But, sometimes even dangerous foes can be put to a very good use. People’s Blade is one such foe, and I have many uses in store for her.” He fished one of the glasses off of the tray, sipping at the drink. “Never forget; just because someone is against you doesn’t mean you can’t still use them for your own ends.”
“He who uses a crocodile as a stepping stone generally loses a foot,” Khanjar replied crossly. “Don’t come complaining when that thing betrays you. And it will.”
He feigned a look of hurt. “Darling, you misjudge me. I’m not blind; she’s using us, as much as we’re using her. She simply thinks she’s on the winning side of the equation. Everyone breaks faith, everyone betrays, everyone becomes a traitor; life has taught me that, if nothing else. It’s a matter of when, and how it can be used to our benefit.” He chuckled, taking another drink. “If I had half a mind, I could immortalize myself with a proverb book, or something equally egotistical.”
“You already waste too much time adding to the Evil Overlord lists,” she countered. “Why did you not give the ‘useful’ monster the files on Shadow-Storm?”
“You mean the complete files?” He laughed a little. “Simple. I didn’t want her to have them. We’ll see how well she can adapt. If she wins over the target to our side, we have another tool at our disposal. If she fails, then we still gain; we’ll be with one less enemy to keep a watch over…one less distraction, as you put it. I imagine that’d please you quite a bit.”
“Well you had better hope that Shadow-Storm never discovers it was you that sent her.” Khanjar’s frown deepened. “I do not wish to have to counter an assassin that uses magic. It is not my strong suit.”
Magic. Pff. Khanji’s superstitions win
out again. No matter how hard he tried, he still couldn’t seem to cure her of her insistence that some metas were actually magicians. Or worse, wholly supernatural. “My dear, in my experience there are very few things that can’t be bought, reasoned with, or killed. In that order, preferably.” He waved at a chair. “Don’t trouble yourself with it. Drink your scotch before it becomes too watered down. We have to sit through another fundraiser for the opera house this evening.”
* * *
Sunset Manor: Home At Last. That was what the expensive, sandblasted, laser-cut redwood sign said in Victorian-style lettering. It was not what Shen Xue had been expecting. Volcanic lair? Unlikely, but possible. High-tech safe-house? Certainly. High-tech safe-house hiding beneath the facade of a warehouse or a tenement or a half-abandoned old farmhouse? Almost not worth mentioning the near-certainty of it.
But an entire expensive, exclusive, gated community for wealthy, retired people, disinclined to put their trust in their former servants or current relatives? Definitely not.
Presumably by prowling on the network of computer connections that Shen Xue loathed, one could discover a certain amount about this place. It would almost certainly be all a front. Shen Xue preferred to do his investigations the old fashioned way; with his feet on the ground and the wind in his hair. Nothing else gave a man proper grounding for a battlefield.
Walls were hardly even an afterthought to him; once inside with a uniform stolen from one of the grounds-keeping staff, his Chinese features and a push-cart laden with gardening tools ensured he would be ignored. He entered the community early in the morning, with the rest of the laborers; another ethnic face as part of the “help” was nothing for anyone to pay attention to.
He learned that Sunset Manor was extensively patrolled by a well-trained security staff; that visitors were only permitted during daylight hours and required much the same identification procedures as anyone gaining admittance to, say, ECHO HQ, complete with identification tags that broadcast their whereabouts. He learned that staff also had these tags, but as long as he stayed a respectable distance away from the rest, with his hands busy in the dirt, no one checked to see if he actually possessed such a tag, and there was no way to flag someone untagged out in the open.
The General also learned that Sunset Manor had three tiers of residents. The third tier were those who were bedridden; these were housed in luxurious “apartments” that were as unlike the standard “nursing home” room as an Italian villa was unlike Chinese government housing. The second tier were those who were infirm, but not bedridden; these were housed in true luxury “apartments” and looked after by staff assiduously. The third tier were those who qualified as “assisted living”—and could have been living in their old homes, presumably, except that they no longer trusted the honesty of their own staff or their heirs (who could bribe their staff). Here they had the assurance that the staff was hired by an impartial outside source, their belongings were inventoried on a daily basis, and similarly impartial accountants kept track of every penny. And all of those pennies went towards paying extravagant fees to ensure that everything was in place. Extravagant perhaps…but cheaper than being robbed by the maids, the heirs, the accountant using their funds on his speculations. And of course, there was the safety. Despite more than a few of the residents having lists of enemies that would rival those of third-world dictators, everyone here was absolutely safe. You could safely leave your doors unlocked and your windows open, when state of the art security was monitoring your home with an exactitude Presidents would envy. You need not concern yourself about thieves, Thulians, natural disasters, insurrections…in exchange for privacy and a none too modest amount of money, you need never worry again.
In this first tier, unlike the model-village look of most “retirement communities,” individual expression in architecture was encouraged. So the handsome mini-mansions spread across acres and acres of property were of styles ranging from ultra-modern to antique.
In such a disparity, the original Victorian mansion that had stood on the original property did not even stand out, except for the old-growth trees and plantings on its grounds. You couldn’t successfully transplant an oak or a beech with a girth that was several feet around, nor peony and rose bushes standing six feet tall.
The General was able to pick out the house from his first glance, besides. Instinct counted for as much as intellect, in his experience. What “intelligence” he was able to gather from listening to the other workers, seeing who went where…it was clear where the “boss” lived, even if no one truly acknowledged it. The old home that the community was built around had taken on the air of a legend; it was maintained, but not too well. It never had anyone come out, but deliveries were regularly made and always by different people.
He is there. He does not want anyone to know it, but one cannot help some things. And besides intellect, besides intelligence, besides instinct, there were…the senses. The General was a creature of magic and legend. Like called to like, and he sensed the magic in that house, magic that appeared nowhere else on the grounds. Now he understood why Verdigris had wanted him to pursue this creature, and not Khanjar. He was uniquely suited to this task; the General was a scalpel, in this case, and she was an ax. It would not do to send peasants after dragons, when a warrior is called for. For a barbarian, he seems to understand at least this truth.
So, now the question: how to penetrate this edifice, which was surely better guarded than any other on the grounds, and approach the owner? Simple; walk through the front door. She had already proven herself; she had penetrated the worst of his overt security, for the outer perimeter was the most heavily guarded. After that, it was assumed that there wouldn’t be anyone dangerous enough to get close, moreso than the occasional geriatric that had become lost on the golf course. Why take the chance of setting off alarms before one even had a chance to speak? Someone as obsessed over his own protection as this target was…it would be much better to take the direct approach. Dressed as a member of the staff, with the Jade Emperor’s Whisper hidden in a golf club bag, it was easy enough to walk to the front door of the old Victorian house near the center of the property.
One hopes this Shadow Storm has not degenerated into senility, the General thought, his hand on the door. After all this…it would be a grave disappointment. Taking a breath, the General twisted the handle and gently pushed the door inwards, placing his sword hand inside of the golf bag.
The sound of a chime marked his entry. Nothing more.
Inside, the antique house was decorated in a curiously Spartan style, almost oriental in its simplicity—the so-called “Swedish Modern” look, executed in the finest of materials and workmanship. The tall, narrow windows were shrouded in wooden slat blinds and plain curtains, allowing very little light in from the fading sun.
There was no answer to that chime. Not by the appearance of a servant, nor a voice. There were cameras, however. Many, many cameras. They seemed to sprout from every corner, and all of them were tracking him automatically. Shen Xue was not familiar enough with the interiors of houses like this to tell if the layout was normal. He stood in a small entryway; to his left, a staircase led upwards. To his right, a hallway ended in a closed door, with two more closed doors along the right-hand wall. Up, or further in? Or wait for a response? Action. Never look behind, dive forward with all of one’s might. Well, perhaps not “diving.” The General paced deliberately forward. Most main rooms were on the ground floor, in his experience. But he was presented with the choice of three closed doors. Which?
He chose the middle; the second door along the wall. Tactics said to choose the center of the enemy’s power; the logic was as ancient and as proven as the General.
The door opened with little effort.
It was a room full of electronics. Or rather, of electronic screens. It looked strangely like one of those decadent display rooms for expensive televisions, except that the screens were all the same sort, and each one showed a different view
of some point—presumably in this house. The screens were the only light sources in the room; most of it was draped in heavy shadows. In the center of the room was a wheelchair, and in the wheelchair was a man.
“So, they’ve finally sent someone, have they? I was starting to wonder if I was important enough to kill anymore.” He was wizened, decrepit; skin hanging off of bones, looking feeble. Was this what the barbarian had sent her for? A living corpse?
“The world has been somewhat preoccupied,” Shen Xue said politely. This was, after all, an elder. “Also, perhaps you have been mistaken in my purpose.”
“Oh, what’s your purpose, eh? A little fanny to seduce me while you cut my throat? No one comes in here, missy. No one living.”
“Negotiation,” suggested the General. “The world has greater concerns at the moment than the sins of the past.”
The man sneered. “The past? Lemme tell you about the past. Snubbed! That’s what I was! Everything I have ever done, for nothing. Nothing but a graveyard, full of walking corpses and what’s left of them that don’t walk anymore. Everything I’ve done…for nothing!” He jabbed a crooked finger at her. “Negotiation? What negotiation? What can you offer me that I couldn’t steal for myself still, hmm?”
Shen Xue considered this, with growing impatience. Verdigris had sent him on a fool’s errand. Verdigris may well have known this. But if he did not…this impertinent creature was not worthy of Shen Xue’s time, but the General also did not wish to permit anyone more to know of his own considerable abilities. This meant killing him, which would be a pleasure after the insulting way the creature had spoken to him, elder or not. But it would have to be killing him in a way that Verdigris could not put down to pique.
“I fail to see that you are able to steal anything more than my time, broken old man.” The General looked down his nose at the man in the wheelchair. “Boast to the shadows and wind, I am done with you. If you are truly brave, you will end your own wretched existence yourself. Only a coward would continue a life so shrunken.” Deliberately, he turned his back, expecting to hear the sound of a weapon.
Revolution: Book Three of the Secret World Chronicle - eARC Page 10